


Walk By Faith

by chicken_neck



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Blind Character, Character of Faith, M/M, POV blind character, Theology, Unitarian Universalism, queer character of faith, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22925644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicken_neck/pseuds/chicken_neck
Summary: "For we walk by faith, not by sight."  - 2 Corinthians 5:7A day in the life of Matt Murdock, Minister of Hell's Kitchen Unitarian Universalist Church.Extremely fluffy and self indulgent AU where Matt has a healthier and happier relationship with his faith, is gay married, and still gets to punch nazis after hours.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is no Unitarian Universalist church in Hell’s Kitchen, but I based a lot of my research in this fic on the Church of all Souls on the upper east side! They do a lot of good work, including a soup kitchen on Monday evenings so. Shout out.

Matt had never been a morning person.

Mornings meant rush hour. The brisk bustle of millions of Manhattanites stumbling over each other was something he didn't expose himself to unless he had to.

He had some distantly fond memories of his dad’s hushed apartment, distant traffic sounds, and the rich golden light that shone in his bedroom window as he got ready for school. But those memories were worn and anyway, he'd too often been up all night waiting for dad to come home or pulled out of bed in the early AM to stitch him up when he finally did.

These days, he slept til 10.

Foggy however, woke at 6. The whirr of the shower and absent-minded singing was enough to bring Matt into the shallows of sleep, awake enough for a morning kiss when he came back in to dress.

Morning light be damned, Matt got the best parts of the bright new day all to himself, in a gentle, sweet kiss. Foggy pulled his fingers gently through Matt's sleep tangled hair, stirring up the scent and heat of their shared bed, as Matt buried his hands inside Foggy's suit jacket, relishing in the sensation of his good, clean linen shirt and warm, soft back.

And after Foggy left, Matt curled around the space he left behind, cocooned in their bedclothes. As he drifted back to sleep, he rubbed the warm gold of his wedding ring gently with the opposite thumb.

\---

The alarm clock was a gift from Paul Lantom, back when Matt was in seminary and the running joke of their lives had been that Matt the first of his congregation he'd seen finding God by losing the Church.

“ _What a Friend we have in Jesus,_ _  
__All our sins and griefs to bear…”_

He slapped the alarm off before it finished two bars, and tapped the fancy Stark Tech clock next to it to confirm “10:00AM, Monday the 27th -”

The weather and headlines washed over him as he did his morning stretches. He wasn’t about to admit to Foggy that the glitzy high-tech clock had been a good idea but it was nice to start the day with a neat list of what was wrong with the world, instead of having the overheard agonies of near-by New Yorkers disrupt his morning.

The weather update wound down and Matt was kneeling on the bedside rug with his palms flat on his thighs.

“Hey babe, good morning!” Foggy’s voice, thin and electrical, came from the Stark Clock “This is 7am Foggy leaving a message kind of because I wanted to talk to you and as that’s impossible with 7am Matt I thought, hey maybe 10am Matty will pick up what I’m putting down!”

Foggy Foggy, soft and lovely. Matt tipped his head back to feel how happiness loosened his chest and shoulders.

“So, anyway I love you and I love the cute little noise you make when I get out of bed and you’re like, offended by the movement. I love that New Yorkers don’t pay any attention to each other so I can say this kinda stuff into my phone as I rapid clip down the sidewalk like the important professional I am, and no one knows I’m being just, astonishingly soppy and gay. Well.” he made that throaty noise he made, when he affably conceded a point, “I should maybe stop erasing myself in front of the morning commuters, as -” his voice raised abruptly in volume, “- _Franklyn Nelson, New York’s first openly bisexual DA!_ ” a pause, then at a normal volume, “yeah that’s getting no response from the 7am speedwalkers. Anyway, love you! See you this afternoon!”

Matt found himself smiling fondly at the ceiling. He was anchored in his body, settled in this room to the exclusion of the world outside. This was peace.

Face still tipped upwards, Matt clasped his hands in his lap, overwhelmed with the sincerity of the moment. He closed his eyes and felt his breath fill his lungs. “Lord, I thank you for the peace and comfort you bring me this day, and every day,” he said, bringing absolute focus to the words welling up from deep in him. “I thank you for the gift that is my life, for the tools you have given me to bring about your will in this world. I thank you for Foggy, for the home we have built together and for the communities which welcome and embrace us every day. I pray for those communities, that they will stay safe and flourishing. May I spend this day in trust of you, oh Lord, carrying the vocation you have given me. Amen.”

He didn’t usually ad lib like that. But some days the spirit moved him.

\---

The hospital was always a bad time. Each tap of Matt’s cane illuminated a new world of suffering. There were floors and floors of rushing feet, beeping machines, muffled sobs, and grunts of pain. The scents of disinfectant and disease were at war with each other, both victorious at the battle of ‘give Matt a headache’.

The grace and purpose with which Matt started the day had ebbed away entirely by the time he finished his visit with one of his congregation members, an energetic woman of 85 laid up after a bad fall. Even with his focus firmly on her cheerful conversation, he was exhausted by the hospital atmosphere.

By the time he stopped to grab a coffee in the lobby, he was so scattered that he didn’t even notice Jessica until she was right beside him.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little church mouse.” She drawled over the whirr of coffee machine grinding, barista steaming milk, conversation of the ladies two tables over, tinny radio music, the-

Matt shook his head to clear it. “I wasn’t aware I was your favorite anything,” he said with a dry smile.

She kicked off the railing she was leaning against (in the thud, he read metal surface, thin, worn rubber soles on her boots), to walk towards him, “well, the pickings are slim, on the church mouse front.”

Through the smoke of coffee grounds, Matt couldn’t quite tell if the whiff of booze coming off her was fresh, or just a result of her general lifestyle. He gathered himself enough to offer her a charming smile. “an honour, nevertheless. What brings you to this coffee shop?”

Jessica tapped a finger on the camera around her neck (nail bitten blunt against plastic casing). “People watching,” she said, “even dirtbags accused of embezzlement get sick. You?”

His smile slipped a little less charming, “church mouse business.”

“Even devout parishioners who don’t deserve it get sick?”

“Something like that.”

The barista called their orders, and without fully meaning to, Matt found himself following Jessica to a square wooden table. It was in a blessed alcove which filtered out the worst of the ambient noise from the huge, chaotic space.

Against the churning cafe chaos, Jessica’s face tilted towards him in that shrewd way she had. There was tension in her somewhere. Whoever she was collecting dirt on today had her antsy. “You know what, while I have you here; do you believe in Hell?”

He had a prepared answer for that question, of course he did. He had to answer it at least once a week. _The idea of an afterlife is a fairly new one to Christian theology, not one with much textual basis, but one which brings hope and comfort to many. I encourage you to really ask yourself why you’re asking that question. Is there is a way you can make your life more fulfilling in the here and now, rather than focusing on avoiding or achieving some ultimate fate?..._

Jessica was toying with the strap of her camera. Her nails were bitten down to the wick and at this closeness, he could smell that the whiskey on her breath was fresh.

He wasn’t going to give that answer now.

What he found himself saying, after a steadying sip of his too-hot coffee, was, “First of all, what I believe shouldn’t affect what you believe. We are all entitled to our own position on -” Jessica gestured impatiently, wafting the coffee scent around, so he continued, “personally? I believe that there is a record kept. Everything matters.

“I was raised on stories of fiery hell, of heavenly salvation. Pearly gates.” He waved his hand in a rolling motion, “you know. The works. But I think those are just stories that make it easier to explain.” He smiled faintly, a twitch of the mouth, “nothing like brimstone to keep control on a dormitory of let’s say, ah, particularly attention seeking children.”

Foggy had described Jessica’s eyes to him once, grey and big and the kind of piercing that got people talking and kept them talking. Even blind to that, Matt felt the tenacity and weight of her attention. She wasn’t going to interrupt him, but she wasn’t going to let him stop before he’d answered her question.

“I believe that there is right and wrong. And that we all know, deep within us all, whether something is right or not. Sometimes, deliberately or accidentally, people lose sight of that. They do bad things. I believe those people deserve to be punished and -” he wavered, this is the part he wouldn’t tell just anyone, “- I don’t think we can know for sure that some higher power is going to do that punishing for us. I believe we have an obligation to create the kingdom of heaven on earth - and that means doing good as much as we can, but it also means punishing people who hurt others.

“I don’t believe that anyone is an irredeemable monster, but I believe that if they’re hurting enough people, doing enough damage to the world,” he shrugged, his suit jacket snagging briefly on the wooden chair as he did, “well, protecting those people and preventing further harm takes precedence.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she said, flatly but not unkindly.

Matt grinned, tilted his head into an apologetic nod, “you’re right, I’m prevaricating. I don’t know. There are people I have lost, and I like to think of them still - out there somewhere. Happy.” Not watching over him, there were things he didn’t want them to see, “but, that’s just another metaphor, I think. I believe that something happens to our souls when we die. I don’t know if anyone creed has it entirely correct on what that is.”

“So, your official position, as someone who has dedicated his life to being a spiritual leader, is that you’ve watched at least one episode of _The Good Place_?”

This time, his smile was only half-calculated, “I don’t _watch_ much TV these days.”

Jessica made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat, “Oh boo hoo, blind boy. The verdict is _I don’t know, but whatever happens, golly I hope it’s swell_? Congratulations on the divinity degree, Reverend Murdock.”

“Not ‘swell’, but just. I hope that evildoers get their comeuppance. I hope kindness gets its reward. I have to act as if we're the only force that can make that happen, though.”

“I guess you put your money where your mouth is, at least.” She pried the thin plastic lid off her coffee, releasing a plume of coffee steam into the air. “I don’t know, I like the brimstone.”

Matt laughed, rough and thin. “You know, I’d have guessed that.”

“Shoot, call me predictable.” She topped her coffee up with the flask she’d pulled from the inner pocket of her jacket. The whiskey fumes made his nose itch.

But, the itch took him out of himself. This was why he liked Jessica. Entirely for her own selfish reasons, and completely without caring, she dispelled his funk. “I’d say … consistent.”

“Well, I guess I’ll put that one in the ‘neutral’ pile, then.” She scraped back her chair with an almighty screech. “Thanks for the moral insights, St. Matthew. I’ll see you when I see you.”

“I’d love to say the same but,” he tapped a fingertip against his glasses, “well.”

Her laugh was fond, under the thick layer of scathing. She flipped him off as she picked up her coffee, and the group at the next table started whispering about it immediately.

His smile was sincere as she walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are new Nelsons and old arguments.

The other thing about the hospital is that it was one of the first environments he had been exposed to with his super senses.

It was overwhelming back then too. Smell came first. Matt could smell them day and night, even in his room so filled with flowers. Then sound. Some part of him was still waiting for his sight to come back, stronger than ever before. It had only been two days.

“Dad,” said Matt, and swallowed. He felt the strange movement trace its way down his throat, past his thrumming heart. “I think god took my sight on purpose.”

There was a deafening rustle of fabric from the chair beside the bed. Jack startled out of whatever daze he had been in, leaned over to gather Matt in a one-armed hug. “Hey, no. Matty, no why would you think that?”

Matt rubbed his face against his dad's shirt, rough as sandpaper. It was harder to breathe. He could feel each muscle in his chest winding tighter, the adrenaline building in his blood stream. “Dad I- I was committing a sin. I, with my eyes I was sinning.”

The powerful, panicked thud-thud of his father's heartbeat reverberated through Matt’s skull, “Matty, you're 11 years old. You're a good kid. You've never done - God doesn’t want to punish you. Why would God want to punish you?”

“But dad I was looking at - at boys. I think God knew I was looking at boys and he took my eyes away so I wouldn't do it anymore.” And he was crying, hot tears falling in agonizing streaks down his face.

“Oh Matty, God doesn't take people's eyes away for - for looking at each other.” Jack brought a hesitant hand up to stroke his hair. Matt felt every hair bend, the strain at the follicles rippling across his scalp. The tiny tugs where a hair or two stuck to Jack’s palm for a moment as it glided by. It was loud like a tidal wave.

“He killed Lott's wife for looking back at Sodom, he killed _everyone_ in Sodom and Gomorrah” said Matt, muffled against his dad's chest.

“Ah, Matty, I don't know all the scripture you do. But I know God didn't take your eyes because you're - you looked at boys. You're a good kid. You got hurt because you were helping someone. If anyone tells you God’s got it in for you, then they're wrong about God.”

The desperate desire to believe his dad ripped through Matt’s chest. “But then, who is right about God?”

Jack sighed the heavy sigh of a man who should have known better than to have a kid with a nun. “Matty, that’s – that’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself, I think.”

\---

The event had been marketed to the Nelsons as an _Introduction Ceremony_. Ashish and Leanne had had a small, more formal Nama Karana ceremony a few months ago, limited to close family. Thus, Tara Nelson-Dhar was formally introduced to the wider Nelson clan at what was technically her Annaprashana, but which the Nelsons had been invited to think of as ‘like a christening, see, there’s even some sort-of priests giving some kind-of blessings.’

Afterwards, Matt found himself caught in an endless cycle of polite questions from older relatives. Matt had to explain that no, this wasn’t a baptism, yes Leanne and Ash knew this, no he didn’t know if they were going to baptize the child at another time, no he wasn’t worried about it, no he didn’t think the child should be baptized, yes the dip was wonderful, and oh no, he had to go take this call -

Matt loved Foggy’s family. He really, truly did. For the most part, they were good people. They liked Matt, they supported Foggy. None of them, to the best of Matt’s knowledge, had knifed anyone in a back alley of Hell’s Kitchen for at least ten years.

Matt loved the Nelsons. The Nelsons also loved Matt. They were – effusive in this. So sometimes, when all of them were in the one place, Matt took a – a brief retreat.

And, as per usual, bumped into another in-law doing it.

“Hey Matt,” said Ashish, from the doorway to the outside world, from the back stoop of the church center’s tiny kitchenette. From where he stood, blocking Matt’s exit.

Matt jolted with a look of patented blind guy surprise. “Ashish, I didn’t know anyone else was out here.”

Ashish hummed knowingly, the sound resonating pleasantly with the splatter of the rain outside. “Nelson overdose? I get the feeling.” As he turned to speak, Matt was hit with a gust of babysmell from his arms. He hadn’t picked out the tiny heartbeat against the roar of the party, but he couldn’t believe he’d missed the warm small bundle of the baby held against Ashish’s chest.

“I took Tara out for a breather. We love our Nelsons very much but it’s a little much sometimes isn’t sweetie?” the second sentence was said in a coo to the baby, and he brushed a kiss against her scalp. The softness of this man and his child stirred a lump of emotion in Matt’s throat

He didn’t really know what to do with that, so he smiled charmingly.

He was restless, still had that awful red tension humming under his skin. Ashish was wonderful to talk to, but he had really needed to stand alone and listen to the rain for a few minutes. Or something.

Matt’s neck prickled as he heard Foggy laugh, delighted, somewhere in the main room. Suddenly it was unbearable, to have Foggy out there in his impeccable suit, warm and relaxed, and have his gentle and fond attention on someone who wasn’t _Matt_.

“You know what, I just need to talk to my husband for a moment, excuse me.”

Ashish waved Tara’s tiny arm at him as he walked away.

He relied on the sheer density of people to cover the fluidity of his movements as he skirted the edge of the room. At least he didn’t have to worry about avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Uncles and cousins clapped Matt warmly on the arm and shoulder before swirling back into the throng, but he stayed focused. He grabbed Foggy by the slightly sweaty hand and did not even bother to make polite excuses as he dragged him away. Foggy called apologies over his shoulder and laughter rolled after them. Matt ignored it all, he took Foggy away to alone to the nest of twisting corridors, until finally the noise abated enough. He turned in one fluid movement and hugged Foggy tightly, immersing himself in scent and sound and sensation.

“It’s all a bit much out there, buddy?”

Matt nodded against his chest. “Five minutes.”

Foggy brought one hand up to brush Matt’s hair, sooth his palm over the back of his skull. “Of course, babe.”

Matt counted five minutes, sinking into mindfulness of his body, of Foggy, the soundscape of the city. Apart from it and a part of it, Matt was breathing, in this corridor, in this city. In this world. Foggy kept stroking his hair.

Five minutes.

Then Matt kissed him. Foggy fell into the movement, wrapped his arms around Matt’s shoulders, and Matt felt stable, something sturdy and worthy of holding.

Matt wormed his hands under Foggy’s jacket in turn, stroking the warm soft plane of his back, clutching closer. In the warm slickness of his mouth, Matt could taste a dozen things he knew better than to tell Foggy he knew about - from the illicit cinnamon doughnut of this morning to the fact that he’d waited for a taxi next to someone smoking a blueberry vape.

Foggy threw himself into the kiss, stroking Matt’s jaw with one hand as the other pressed into the small of his back. It was the same touch he used to guide Matt through noisy and crowded places, here guiding him only deeper into the touch.

The intimacy of the moment was so warm, so sweet and rapturous, Matt allowed himself the indulgence of ignoring the click of sensible, heeled shoes approaching their shadowy corner until a kind, tired voice called out, “Hey, you gotta separate church and state there, we’re in public.”

Matt leaned back from the kiss, keeping his hands under Foggy’s jacket, “Karen, it’s wonderful of you to come.”

“Less wonderful of you to interrupt a rare moment of - of kissing,” said Foggy, a little flustered. Matt watched the heat from his mouth disperse in the cool air, a little proud of having tied that tongue.

“What can I say, it’s my duty as a member of the free press to expose the shadows behind the thrones of power.” Said Karen, prying Matt and Foggy apart enough that she could burrow herself between them. Their orbit shifted naturally to include her.

“Indeed, what a miscarriage of justice it is for me to kiss my husband,” said Matt drily, stroking his forcibly-freed hand down her silky hair.

“Any reason you're crawling into the embrace of power?” asked Foggy, raising an eyebrow at Matt over his armful of unexpected Karen.

“Families,” Karen muttered, tucking her face into Foggy's suit jacket.

Matt got it.

Foggy scoffed. “You’re a Nelson staple, they ask me how you’re doing all the time, they love you.”

“That doesn’t stop it from being stressful,” Matt said, smoothing his hands down the arms of Karen’s jacket. “I’m going to guess, the welcoming embrace of the Nelson clan is, a little overwhelming when most of your family is dead, and the rest is estranged?”

She nodded, still buried in Foggy’s jacket, but leaning back into Matt until all three of them were firmly wedged together. “They’re all so lovely, and _loud_ , and one of them offered to introduce me to Joan Didion? And then two aunts started fighting over whether it was feminist to be a journalist in the modern world?”

Matt laughed, “imagine what it’s like being _married in_ , and also a _nice local boy_.”

Karen made a pained noise, and Matt curled closer into her.

Foggy rolled his eyes at both of them. “I’m rolling my eyes at both of you,” he said. “My family love Matt so much it makes him uncomfortable; this is why we eloped.”

Karen sighed, “I love you both, and I get that you’re from Manhattan, but it doesn’t count as an elopement if you can get the subway home.”

Foggy spluttered in exaggerated disbelief, “Karen, we went to _Brooklyn_ -”

The three of them bickered together in that peaceful tangle for a little while.

“Okay,” said Foggy eventually, “once more into the breach, my traumatized ducklings. We’re going to mingle, we’re going to chitchat, we are going to _charm_.” His fingers tightened briefly on Matt’s arm, before he stepped away from their huddle. “We are shining bright young things.” He said as he adjusted his suit jacket, smoothing out the cuddle crinkles. “We are accomplished young professionals. We can do this.”

Matt and Karen straightened themselves with only minor grumbling. Foggy eyed them, “Matt, you’ve got some of Karen’s make up on your shirt, so keep the jacket on.” He continued to look over them thoughtfully, “Karen, you look perfect. Don’t let anyone set you up on a date with my brother. He smells like deli meats, you can do better.”

\---

And of course, what family gathering was complete without well-meaning prejudice.

Matt was so on edge for homophobia that it was almost a relief when someone’s aunt’s new husband cornered him by the dessert table and said, “it’s amazing how you still need the cane to get around, with all you can do in the ring!”

“Hah,” said Matt, with a practiced smile, “no unexpected obstacles in there, is the key. Just the one obstacle, and they make themselves known pretty easily.”

Matt was never sure how far his words would travel in crowds – he heard everything. From the scattered titters from the assembled Nelsons, he’d been projecting. But all sounds were suddenly cut through by the sharp voice of an elderly aunt -

“And how do you reconcile so much _violence_ with being a man of God?” She asked, appearing in Matt’s perception mostly as a powdery, perfumed cloud.

“Ah,” Matt bluffed. “It is, uh, something I have thought a lot about obviously ...” Any person who got into a ring with Matt knew what they were getting into. If they didn’t, it meant they’d underestimated him. Literally or figuratively: they’d asked for a beating. Matt bought some time with another awkward laugh, “I’d be happy to discuss it with you a different time, perhaps.”

“It doesn’t seem very _godly_ ,” she interrupted him reedily, “even by your _loose_ definitions. Love thy neighbor as thyself has always been a key one in my opinion.”

Matt’s polite smile was wavering, but a chorus of Nelsons came to his rescue once more.

“Leave him be, Geraldine!”

“It’s a sport - sure your boys did football in their day.”

“I’ve seen them giving a knock or two off the pitch too.”

“And if my memory serves me correctly, you’ve thrown a punch or two yourself, Gerry.”

“Be that as it may, I never made a _profession_ out of it,” Aunt Gerry puffed up like an angry frog, and Matt was extremely grateful for the sudden light touch of Foggy’s fingers in the small of his back.

“I could hear the pearls being clutched from across the room.” He said in undertone, as he took advantage of the distraction to steer Matt away from the raucous Nelson elders.

“I wish they would just drop the MMA thing. I barely even fight any more.” Matt tilted his head in preemptive acquiescence, “that they know of.”

“Yeah, no. My cousin Leanne has you saved in her phone as ‘MMAthew,’” said Foggy in undertone. “They’re not letting this one go any time soon.”

“What did she mean by ‘loose definitions’,” said Matt, belatedly registering the words.

“It means that if you’re the kind of woman with a framed photo of Ruth Bader Ginsberg on your mantelpiece and your Catholicism has survived 87 years of child abuse scandals and civil rights advancements, you’re brand loyal to a fault. Don't take it personally.”

Matt tried to smooth out his obvious frown as they waded through the crowd of various Nelsons. “Godly-ness is not sectarian. I parted ways with the Church for very good reason.”

“I know, baby,” said Foggy, rubbing a soothing circle into the small of his back. “Let’s grab some fancy hams and get out of here.”


End file.
